


Heart is a Spade

by mattepinkallshades



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Cute Ending, F/F, Fluff and Smut, New Beginnings, One Night Stands, a sort of light Dom/sub scene unfolds, katya is 29 trixie is 47, the birds without the birds and make it dykes, they like arguing, think i got lots of views from outsiders expecting d/s, took out that one tag, who then got bored reading about a pet mouse and carpeting, women and aging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-18 01:27:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17571701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattepinkallshades/pseuds/mattepinkallshades
Summary: Katya likes to tap and grab, swooping at her over and over. It's alarming at first. Trixie likes it. There’s an old mantel clock on one of the bookshelves that distracts Trixie as it ticks past 7:30, that is until Katya climbs up and turns it around. She doesn’t say how much that turns her on but she’s sure Katya notices.^If Trixie was Melanie in The Birds and Katya was the teacher, and there were no birds, but someone does accidentally get a bloody lip.^





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I really needed to finish something so here is a two chapter “single encounter that could mean more.” I'll post the second chapter later in the week, it's already written this time. Comments are sooo lovely, please do leave one if you're feeling it! 
> 
> If you're familiar with Tippi Hedren in Hitchcock's The Birds you should see familiar elements. How many is up to you :) I must mention yekaterina’s creative use of Trixie/Tippi in [ Miserable Souvenirs](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16243691/chapters/37974839), it's so good.
> 
> Link to the song "Connection" by Elastica because that's where the title comes from, this Trixie would have loved it in college 25+ years ago.

 

The Ambassador is the luxury edition of the Hampton Jitney bus line between New York City and Long Island. It boasts a few perks that don’t make much difference in quality. The point is to charge more for tickets and group certain types of passengers together. That's why Trixie is on it.

 

A boy who looks about ten or eleven years old holds a small clear plastic animal crate on his lap in the seat next to Trixie. He’s covered it with his puffy ski jacket with space left over the pink vented cover. He opens the latch at the top every 15 minutes or so, reaches in to check on the animal which must be very small. Each time, he coos and clucks at it and a whiff of cedar and ammonia wafts out.

 

Trixie waits about an hour then asks what's inside. The boy holds it tighter and Trixie sits back, mortified. She raises her phone protectively and opens Instagram, shielding it at an angle in case anything unpalatable shows up. She sneaks a photo of the crate with the caption _If only the unaccompanied infant next to me were in this cage instead of holding it._ As she scrolls a flurry of likes pop up along with a few comments.

 

“He's a mouse,” the boy says ten minutes later, and Trixie doesn't realize at first that he's speaking to her. “Some people don't like him. You remind me of my teacher last year.”

 

Trixie tries to piece together what sounds like multiple conversations, wondering not for the first time in recent years if she's gone mad.

 

“Like--” the boy mimes sweeping his hands back over his face, like Trixie’s eyeliner, and curves his microscopically tiny hands around his head in a shell shape, like her high twisted chignon. In the drama of this performance he nearly lets the cage tip off his lap. “And when I brought him in for show and tell, she screamed.”

 

“Oh. So she's the ‘scared of a mouse’ type?” Trixie suggests, feeling a little exposed but not prepared to argue the finer points of her own femininity with a child.

 

He nods. “I knew she would scream. I kind of did it on purpose.” He then moves his coat away to show one side of the crate and underneath a pristine white mouse stands up on his back legs with pale pinkish front paws pressed up against the plastic. Trixie impulsively presses her index finger with a long, almost naturally pink polished nail against where his nose sniffs and he crouches back down.

 

“I like him. He seems friendly.”

 

“Yeah, he is. My sister had one that bit. I got the crate from her.”

 

Trixie almost asks how long pet mice live, but thinks better of it.

 

\--

 

Another hour later Trixie is finally sitting alone in her row, more anxiously looking out from her window to choose the town that suits her, losing track of how many more stops are available. Her jeans lock her knees and even with the extra leg room she still bumps the seat in front of her with her tan lace-up fur boot each time she crosses her legs. She picks dried up grit from where they’ve been sprayed with grimy rain water on street corners, thinking next year she’ll get the dark brown. Or maybe she'll get them now.

 

Trixie had expected the highway scenery to transition to the rough winter Atlantic ocean along the way but it's all dark pines and scattered dead deer until they reach Sag Harbor. Empty docks come into view there and their Main Street is the most lively of the towns they’ve driven through so she flies off with her cream and pink Louis Vuitton Keepall.

 

At 1:30pm there are a few hours of light left and it's not painfully cold. Trixie’s ravenous and the immediate options are a high end burger place and uptight cloth napkin restaurants. Up the street behind a dreary looking bar there's a sign that spells ‘Provisions’ in a rainbow of vegetables. Given she has no other direction in this town to find someone to spend her time with, a green market seems the more promising start.

 

The New Year passed a few days ago but festive trees with large multi-colored light bulbs still line Main Street and some shops haven’t taken down the old fashioned glittery Santa faces and polyester snow banks filling their windows. Trixie takes long looks walking past them knowing they'll be thrown away any day now.

 

She brushes a couple of the light bulbs on each tree, stops to squeeze a red one with a thought that it might shatter in her cool pink fingers. With the bulb in her hand and the urge to crush it, her eyes roll obscenely under their lids and it re-invigorates her. She feels ten times more attractive now than when she stepped off the bus and cinches her belt a little too tightly for comfort around her ivory wool coat. Her colorist in the city gave her icy platinum highlights two weeks before Christmas and she gave him a generous tip for how well they came out, on top of his annual bonus. Her ash blonde roots look good with it, too.

 

\--

 

Provisions smells strongly of yeast and pungent valerian root with a little lavender. She's glad she didn't apply her perfume but she has it in her bag for later, if she meets someone. There's a juice bar and cafe just past the checkout racks stocked with supposedly tempting items like neck wraps, balms, moisturizing socks, and a hundred variations of glass and steel water bottles.

 

“I’ll have the tofu scramble burrito thing. It's tofu with turmeric, right? Okay, what kind of vegan cheese do you have?” The person at the counter calls back to someone in the kitchen and confirms for her. “And the mixed vegetable juice, that has beets?”

 

Just then Trixie notices a lithe dark blonde at the prepared foods section ten feet away examining containers of fresh guacamole, her shiny hair pulled into thick pigtails. She’s inspecting the label of each though from a distance they all appear to be identical. Trixie counts as she picks up and looks at five of them, then six, all while the person behind the counter waits for Trixie patiently. Well aware her voice can be intrusively loud, she decides to test if Pigtails is actively listening. With her hair like that she's likely too young for her, or she's too old to be wearing her hair that way. Trixie isn't sure which would be worse, but she's curious.

 

“Great. Can you add extra beet? I want it _bloody_ ,” she says louder. Sure enough the shoulders on Pigtails’ coat tighten and shake with a silent laugh. A well fitted cashmere coat--she can determine the fiber from this distance.

 

Once her order is taken, Trixie is given a receipt to bring to the register at the front and then bring back to the counter to retrieve her food--a stupidly complex and demanding process if she had any say in it--and she decides to make a loop around the grocery aisles before paying. There's nothing here she can't avoid in abundance at any cookie cutter health food store back in the city. All the typical displays of Burt’s Bees, Avalon, and Desert Essence; rows of regular essential oils and organic essential oils; a wall of tooth powders, gels, and non-toxic pastes as well as oddly shaped toothbrushes.

 

She decides the electric toothbrush in the children's section will occupy a few extra seconds and that's all she needs, browsing time to generate the opportunity for an encounter. Trixie picks it up, pushes the button and a spaceship sound plays followed by a loud, clamoring song about a buzzy toothbrush. When she jams it again to switch it off, the recording changes instead and a woman with a commanding voice instructs her to ‘Start at the top.’

 

“That's suggestive for a toothbrush.” Trixie knows before she glances up. Dark blonde. A doll face that looks airbrushed. A bit too old for the pigtails but so fucking cute in them.

 

 _‘No need to press hard’_ the voice admonishes.

 

“That's true! Shit, I'll buy one,” she adds with a laugh. Her skin recovers easily from her intense expressions. It’s Trixie’s own vanity that makes her obsess, she’s well aware. The outfit under her coat is stuffy. Maybe work attire. A navy shift dress with matching tights and gold toned flats. And a thick scaly gold necklace in the shape of a snake eating its tail.

 

“The Ouroboros,” Trixie says and taps the snake’s head with the end of the toothbrush, the recording and buzzing having stopped. Trixie appreciates how the click of the jewelry makes her wild blue eyes jump.

 

She clears her throat and fluffs her right pigtail over the lapel of her coat. “Did you know beet’s blood is good for seasonal affective disorder?” Trixie bounces her fist against her thigh and looks like she has no idea what she’s talking about. “More so than cow’s blood, goat’s blood--”

 

“Pig's blood?” Trixie offers.

 

“That's just repulsive.” The sureness of her voice is convincing.

 

“I don't know much about the area.” Trixie flicks her eyes to the canvas bag over her shoulder with a school and a nearby town printed on it. “And I’m visiting to learn about the schools. My child--ren and I are considering a move out here from the city.” She chastises herself for such a complex lie. Not even a fun one. It would have been easy enough to ask about a drink later.

 

“Oh, I work here,” the woman says cheerfully and points to the bag on her shoulder. “I teach.” After her mouth broadens over ‘teach’ she closes her lips and Trixie can tell she’s harnessing a bigger smile. She has immaculately shaped lips painted dark brown-red with a wide cupid’s bow.

 

She bullshits through a few questions about her fake children, asks basic follow-ups she thinks up on the spot about the school, the area. It’s easy except when Trixie thinks she sees a stifled laugh flutter in her chest. But something about the depth of her features makes her seem well-meaning.

 

“Trixie!” She turns her head to the counter in response to her order being called out, then glances back. _Fuck_. She’d been prepared to use another name.

 

“Trixie.” It thrills her to say it, Trixie knows because of how she says it and how her small gold feet fidget on the store's laminate flooring. It's not an unusual response, either. “I’m Katya. How long are you visiting?”

 

“Just the night,” Trixie says, dropping her chin with a small grin of shame at her transparency. Not that she's out of her element flirting hard with someone she's just met. She’s usually traveling this time of year, often abroad, matching herself up with strangers’ desires.

 

But her extra thick passport recently expired before she realized another five years had gone by and her driver’s license expired long ago. She doesn’t need to drive herself nor does she want to. Without a valid ID she can't fly anywhere right now, not even on the helicopter that could have dropped her here in 30 minutes as opposed to the nearly 3 hours the Ambassador took.

 

“You realize school is still closed this week?” Katya asks after a heavy pause.

 

Trixie tongues her sharp incisor. “Uh huh.” She generally finds that expression abhorrent but her face is so hot she has to restrain herself from saying more.

 

“Then you’ll have to come over. I'll talk to you about whatever.” She's relentlessly chipper and quick, ratcheting up Trixie’s discomfort.

 

Katya turns and disappears around the next aisle with her basket. A cut and run is still a viable option. Otherwise, Trixie has to follow after her. She rubs the toe of her soft boot against her other ankle a few moments.

 

“Come over where?”

 

\--

 

After lunch, Trixie books into The American Hotel which is the nearest hotel on Main Street and a very fancy one though oppressive and dark. Katya went on her way after providing her address and number and Trixie was grateful to have the time to breathe.

 

She's supposed to meet Katya at her house at 6pm and she's given herself a soft 7pm deadline to be sure her age is tolerable. Some of her friends disagree but many feel the same, that something shifts around thirty, give or take. And if you’re over forty, anyone well under thirty seems childish. At least their mistakes seem so. They're not yet on the other side of something though they may believe they are.

 

Whatever the case is, Trixie doesn’t want to feel responsible for someone else's feelings. She wants to feel good.

 

After killing a couple hours scrolling, liking, and lurking on other people's vacation and late-posted New Year's photos, she takes a long shower with her waterproof vibrator. With the water running hot she lets the next room hear her. The tension from the long ride, the frustration of seeing people she’d rather not see but can’t unfollow, she washes it away and sends it circling down the drain.

 

Then she moisturizes and starts her makeup over. When her skin dries she puts on nude stockings with a thick black seam up the back over a white full coverage bra and matching underwear.

 

She slips a long cream colored cowl neck sweater over her blush pencil skirt and adds an extra wide black leather belt with double buckles. The belt is not comfortable to sit in but they’re not going for dinner or drinks so it shouldn’t matter. She takes the shoulder pads out of the sweater. Her hair feels too tight and she takes it down and gently brushes out some of the hairspray. It’s just above her shoulders in long angular waves.

 

When she requests an Uber, Trixie is caught off guard by how long it will take to pick her up since anything over 3 minutes is breaking news back home. Worse yet she has to cross the street in black patent leather pumps and wait by a damn bench to be picked up going in the right direction. That 7pm deadline gets firmer in her mind.

 

She texts Katya that she's running late. She wouldn't normally but it feels like she should and it makes her feel better when she texts back something very kind.

 

\--

 

Along the central road leading to Katya’s house, heavy cedar branches shoot past worn rail fencing looped with browned pine garlands and wilted red flocked bows. Trixie thinks how there hasn’t been much snow yet and this area would look so pretty covered in it.

 

Katya specified that a red Volkswagen Jetta would be parked in front of her house and Trixie spots it up ahead. She promises the Uber driver a $20 tip to pull into the driveway which he wasn't going to do. She's not about to walk on patchy gravel in the dark.

 

Before she reaches the door, Katya comes out to greet her. Her hair is down now and massively thick. It's hard for Trixie not to be jealous. Her hair just doesn't grow that way anymore.

 

She's in the same outfit as before though. Once they're inside, Katya explains that she attended a post-New Year's brunch for school faculty and staff, so she figured she should stay looking presentable. Trixie’s cheeks warm when she notices she changed from her flats into boots with a stacked heel. It’s cute that she put in the effort and feels the need to explain it.

 

She also explains the peculiarities of the rented house as she walks Trixie from the entryway that opens into the dining room and then a sunken living room, followed by a short hallway leading to the ‘media room’ named as such by the landlord only because it contains a built-in tube TV along with his books. The man has decorated the house with his personal collections of what might be hundreds of teapots and several dozen patchwork quilts from end to end, top to bottom. In two rooms he's tacked a laminated original handwritten list of rules for preserving their placement.

 

Once they settle in the media room and begin to analyze his phrasing, Trixie asks her if she's found the old fag’s mother yet or if they should hunt for the body together and Katya grasps her hand, laughing far harder than it was worth.

 

From there they fall into easy enough conversation on a drab tasseled velvet couch in the media room. Katya likes to tap and grab, swooping at her over and over. It's alarming at first. Trixie likes it. There’s an old mantel clock on one of the bookshelves that distracts Trixie as it ticks past 7:30, that is until Katya climbs up and turns it around. She doesn’t say how much that turns her on but she’s sure Katya notices.

 

The building mood wilts, though, when Katya talks animatedly about her job and parents’ expectations. It sounds stressful but dull, the worst combination imaginable though she seems to love it. Trixie doesn’t even ask what subject she teaches, she doesn’t want to encourage her. It’s nothing she can relate to. To be unaware it's so unrelatable is more concerning. It's not like Trixie is looking for a connection but she wants to know the person she might end up in bed with is on the same wavelength.

 

It’s also not like everyone appreciates Trixie’s wavelength. Some view her as harsh, elitist, defensive, ‘that bitch with the eyeliner’ as her building proxy told her she was referred to by the board president at the last co-op meeting which she never attends. She doesn't usually see herself that way. And her closer friends don't. She tends to lose them every few years, though.

 

To shift them forward, Trixie says the room is too dusty for her and blames allergies. They head back out to the open space.

 

The sunken living room is an architectural scar from the 1960s that was likely layered with orange and red velvet pillows in its heyday. It would look great with them now. Instead it's been crammed with a couple of floppy grey pleather couches and armchairs covered in musty quilts.

 

Katya balances her boot heels on the first of the two carpeted steps leading down to the bottom.

 

“How old are you?” Trixie asks. She tries to smooth down any snared threads of derision or condescension in her voice.

 

“Twenty-nine.” Katya doesn’t hesitate at all and Trixie’s heart sinks. As if Katya could've magically aged five years if she'd had a moment to think ‘over 30’ in her head. As if it matters.

 

“Won’t ask you the same, looks like you're gonna slap me,” Katya says after Trixie stops nodding. She's standing still at the top now.

 

Trixie laughs, tucks her chin and rubs at the irritation caused by her contact lens. She doesn't care so much now if her shadow fallout streaks into her crow’s feet, or how the tender skin of her neck collapses.

 

“Not what I was thinking. I'm forty-seven, if it concerns you,” she replies, picking mascara residue off her finger. Katya turns and walks a few steps to the entryway wall shared with the kitchen, leans back into it and brings up one boot against the too-yellow beige paint. Seems like something she should not be doing, due to house rules.

 

“Can I get a hint what you were thinking?” She asks in a casual tone while playing with the snake's head on her necklace.

 

“Um … Wondering if you remember how much cash you made on your last babysitting job.”

 

“No cash at all, friends and family all the way.” Trixie doesn’t have a clue what Katya means by that but she knows it was funny and laughs charitably. “Did you know one of the Abba guys is behind Sweden becoming cash free?”

 

“Abba? Trying to endear yourself to me by guessing my favorite eight track? That’s a generation before me.” Katya shrugs at her and drops her eyes. Trixie notices then that she’s wearing false lashes. Trimmed so they fit just towards the outsides. The effect is dazzling. Trixie senses her pose becoming wanton as she gazes at them.

 

She steps down into the living room and turns by a round end table with a lamp and a teapot with a card next to it that reads ‘ _Please enjoy looking, but do not touch.’_ Out of the corner of her eye she sees Katya trace a semicircle in the taupe carpet with the toe of her boot and snorts a quiet laugh to herself.

 

“So what exactly did you come out here for?” The stark question makes Trixie look up just as Katya does. “You should tell me something real. I know you were never interested in a school.” Trixie makes one screech of a laugh and she’s grateful for all the soft cloth everywhere absorbing the sound.

 

“That was obvious,” she says dragging the nail of her ring finger through the part in her hair to clean it up. When she looks up again Katya’s face is so arrogant she wants to cover it with her hand. 

 

“True, but also … I have a secret,” Katya says, turning to face Trixie while still leaning one side. “I've seen you before. You and a friend of yours, in the city. A real rowdy redhead in a long dyed fur coat, pitching snowballs at taxis the Wednesday night before Thanksgiving.”

 

Blood rushes to Trixie’s ears. She recalls the gimlet fueled escapade and slushy bare fingers. And an offended taxi driver who screeched to a halt sending her and Jinkx to loudly ‘hide’ behind a subway entrance on ruined satin Jimmy Choos. The restaurant they had been spotted outside called the police and reports were filed.

 

“That was a Wednesday?” Trixie buys herself a few seconds to recover.

 

“Thanksgiving is always on Thursday. Your friend has a pretty good arm, what’s she up to these days?”

 

“Her husband,” Trixie bites out. That was a sharp move, she can admit. Clever.

 

“And you?”

 

“Don’t have one of those.” Katya makes an ‘OK’ gesture with her fingers.

 

“In the interest of fair exchange: I'm not a teacher.” Katya casts her eyes down when Trixie holds her breath. “I run the Alumni Office. That's why I was in the city then, we host reunions there because no one wants to haul out here.”

 

Trixie flicks her hand up to say something and knocks the lamp shade. She straightens it and pops out the dent. “What do I care what job title you have? I’ll never see you again.”

 

“Sorry.” She thumps back and slouches with her hair hung around her face like a doll who just realized their owner has discarded them for the last time. 

 

Trixie looks her over sympathetically and shrugs her shoulders. “A good fuck. That’s what I was looking for. Good is a high bar, what you hope for. I wanted someone to fuck me,” Trixie prattles out while lifting the lid of the teapot next to her, disregarding the sign. “How many of these are there, do you think?” she asks while replacing the lid, estimating how many line the rafters alone.

 

Katya comes alive again. “Oh, so in addition to not being allowed to touch them, he stops by unannounced to check, did I tell you that?” Trixie laughs and follows her to a glass curio on the wall opposite the two of them. There Katya points out a few of her favorites, including one commemorating Princess Diana’s death.

 

She takes that one down with clinical caution and offers it to Trixie, trusting her to remember the consequences. “They're wild. But I don't know how many there are in total, two hundred?” She bumps Trixie’s knee with her own. “Give or take twenty-five? Thirty-five? See what I did there?” Trixie raises an eyebrow and sinks her tongue into her cheek, nodding as she holds and examines Diana's photographed smile poorly printed on china. She was in college _then_.

 

“Katya,” she says, speaking to the teapot. Then she looks down to her. “You’re really … clever. And beautiful.” Katya picks at one of the buckles on Trixie’s belt and her hips tense. “I can't. I'm sorry it isn't what you want.”

 

“You're exactly what I want.” She slides between the two straps. “Boozy, loud older women are what all the girls want,” Katya snickers.

 

“Not at the end of the night when our clothes are on wrong.” Trixie tries to suck her stomach away from her and Katya tightens her grip. “And that's not what I meant. I’m not _boozy_ , by the way. Just because you saw me that one time--”

 

“Fine. But trust me, I'll fix your skirt if it gets stuck in your Spanx after I fuck you,” Katya says out of the corner of her mouth in a grizzly old voice.  

 

Trixie looks her in the eye and flips the teapot from her hand. Katya flails to catch it and sinks with it like a football.

 

Once she steadies herself, Katya returns it to its shelf with barely a sound. She unzips her boots and kicks them off, dropping a couple inches shorter in the thick carpet.

 

Trixie moves to apologize but Katya speeds past her to step down into the living room and curl into an armchair, the only one with no quilts on it. It hides her away like she’s left the room.

 

A mix of guilt and loss churn in Trixie’s stomach. It was too far. They had a good game going until she got mad and threw the ball into the street.  

 

She steps out of her pumps and slings the back of each one over a finger, carries them to where Katya sits. She puts her hands on the back of the chair in order to kneel to the floor since this weirdo’s funhouse has all the furniture at different heights like no lesbian would _ever_ do. Then she offers her shoes over Katya's right shoulder. They're heavy with a sharp heel. Her Achilles’ tendons ache for a few seconds as they stretch back to normal. Katya takes them from her with a soft chuckle and puts them neatly on the floor at her feet.

 

Trixie reaches down to lift Katya’s thick, cool hair off her shoulders and play with it, let it unspool from her fingers. There are soft dents where the elastics were earlier in the day. Trixie’s hair has always been more coarse requiring smoothing creams and wire brushes and she’s had a thing for this slippery, plasticky kind of hair all her life. She scratches her nails a little further down her neck and Katya’s back arches with a quiet groan.

 

“I'm not a top,” Trixie says softly. It’s mostly true.

 

Katya leans her head back and opens her eyes. They’re shiny. “That's not a problem.” Trixie pulls a hand back and presses it low on her stomach against a jolt pulsing there. She then folds both arms over the back of the chair and leans down.

 

Hearing Katya's voice a little tighter and more raspy evokes choir lessons with diagrams of vocal folds and laughing with classmates over the idea of singing vulvas, drawing them with musical notes popping out in talk bubbles all over the chalkboard and the uneasy thrill of being reprimanded.

 

“I wanted older women when I was your age, younger. I’m not ready to be on the other end,” Trixie says. “Being on this end blows. And one night stands are one thing but I won’t be a checkbox for anyone. You get that, right?”

 

Katya turns and folds her arms over hers. “Trixie, I’m sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel like that.” Trixie nods and her sinuses sting. “I can settle for one night. But I got excited at the slight chance for more, I wanted to impress.” She can empathize with how wrong she got it. And she is, in fact, impressed with how humble Katya is. She's so willing to gut herself. She feels lighter with all of Katya's cards dropped.

 

“I’d rather have a girlfriend to fuck exactly how she likes,” Katya continues, “and she helps me keep the bathroom clean, and eats leftovers.”

 

“Leftovers?”

 

“That's not negotiable. There are people who never eat them and there's the rest of us who don’t know that ‘zingy’ means rancid. There's probably some people in between, if you want to be one of them.” Trixie laughs and rests her chin on Katya's forearm. She doesn't detect any perfume when she breathes in. “And if I could control all the levers yeah I want someone around my age. So we won’t … you know …”

 

“Don't say it,” she mumbles making her jaw bounce on Katya's arm.

 

“Not that! I mean so we can bulk buy special old lady lube for our dried out pussies, and it won't expire before the other one needs it.” Trixie drops her head laughing into the carpet. “Because we are a thrifty breed.”

 

Trixie pulls herself up quickly and doesn't care that her face is flushed and sweaty. “I am not thrifty! I could buy my lube as needed and set up a lube trust fund for the under-30 sector of my polycule, for their pussies, whensoever they dry out.”

 

“Whensoever! Can I be the president of the cule?”

 

“You can execute the trust fund, the older members won’t listen to you.” She pats down the sides of her hair looking for rogue antennae, breakage being one of the trade-offs of lifting her color so high for so long.

 

“That’s very generous of you, considering how frightening the economy and healthcare are for them. And now, I’m hungry.” She comes around the chair, back up the living room steps and hoists Trixie from the floor, holding her hand into the kitchen.

 

\--

 

Katya leans back on the counter with her forearms on the edge. It’s an enclosed kitchen, the kind no one builds anymore with four walls and a swinging door, a countertop and cabinets lining one wall with a little card table in the corner. There's an orange plastic school chair positioned under the landline phone mounted on the bare wall. A miles long corkscrew cord hangs from it tangled into a twisty plastic tail. Definitely another personal effect kept in that exact place at the neurotic landlord’s insistence.

 

Katya wolf whistles at Trixie when she sits in the chair and crosses her legs. Trixie scoffs playfully. Now they’ve made up she feels like sparring a bit more.

 

“Do you have all your vaccinations or are your parents scared they'll make you autistic?” Katya rolls her eyes with a grin and turns to the cabinet behind her, stands on her toes and picks out a honey stick from an opened cellophane gift pack with the red grosgrain ribbon still taped to it. She chews off and spits out the end to open it.

 

“When did your last adult tooth come in? Do you love, like …” Trixie struggles to think of a pop star who might make Katya seem much younger. “Ariana Grande?”

 

“Sure, especially the one about bacon eggs,” Katya says cheerfully, nodding and pointing the stick at her. “That's the whole chorus.” She flutters her eyelashes and sucks more honey from the tip, repeatedly humming the melody.

 

Trixie squints. She’s positive Katya is fucking with her.

 

“That’s not real,” Trixie smirks. She sits on her hands. Her body is becoming less still all the time. The sitting, and the weight of being lower, and the waiting for Katya to suck as much as she wants from her little honey stick before she'll pop it out of her mouth and give an answer. She’s rolling over all of it.

 

“It _is_ real, that's how I sing it when it plays on my assistant’s Spotify. She agreed I can swap out lyrics if I let her control the playlist for our office.”

 

Instead of finishing it herself, Katya holds out the honey stick with no doubt that Trixie will take it.

 

And she does. Trixie opens up, holds out her tongue and leans forward to wait for the honey as it bubbles out. Katya sucks in a small breath when she drags the ragged edge of the empty stick from Trixie’s mouth.

 

“You're dreamy,” Trixie says coyly after scraping her sticky bottom lip dry. Her knees are together but her feet have splayed around the chair. Her face feels heavy.

 

Katya wraps the empty stick in a paper towel and balances on one foot to drop it in the waste bin. “I kinda think you actually think I am,” she says casually sucking the sticky side of her thumb.

 

“You're not wrong. Isn’t that something kids say?”

 

“Mm.” Katya finishes off her thumb. “We say things like, you have pillowy lips and tits. And I want to pull your stockings down your hips, feel your whole fat ass in my hands.” She carefully puts her arms over Trixie’s shoulders, rests her wrists together behind her neck. It positions Trixie’s now expressionless face right against her stomach and Trixie grasps Katya's inner elbows and squeezes them. She can smell firewood on Katya's dress and bites at the slippery fabric, unable to catch it. Katya grips her hair and the base of her skull buzzes under her fingertips.

 

“I can, if you let me.” Before Trixie can see it coming, Katya’s pulled her hips back and dropped her face right in front of hers. The steel chair legs grind against the linoleum when Trixie tips towards her. “I can be what you came here for.”

 

The chair teeters on its front legs while Trixie stares at Katya’s lips up close, guesses she likely smoked in college, maybe after, but doesn’t now because there’s no odor in her clothes or hair. The controlled breath from her nose makes Trixie’s lips twitch and Katya’s part reflexively. All her hope is so evident, just in her mouth. Trixie envisions her crying into a pillow she’s held onto since high school if she were to leave right now.

 

She lets her lips touch Katya’s, sinks under to still Katya’s lashes tickling her eyelids, and accepts that her fingers have no regard for her carefully swept hair, how it won't bounce back the way her own can.

 

Katya pushes her knee through the stretch of Trixie’s skirt, digs between her legs and the chair finally cracks back onto the floor. She’s firmly compressed under her stockings and Katya's knee barely makes an impression even when she spreads her legs wider and swivels her hips in the hard curve of the seat. Katya’s kisses get harder. One more crush of her knee pushes just enough into Trixie’s spandex layers and she stutters out a moan, sucks Katya's tongue. Katya pulls back and folds herself onto Trixie’s lap.

 

“How wet are you?” Katya works to keep her mouth just off hers but her breath flutters between Trixie’s lips.

 

“Touch me.”

 

“No no. I asked you, I want to hear how you describe it.”

 

Trixie cries a little and Katya sucks in her teeth at the whining sound. “Swimming. I'm swimming in it.”

 

Katya drops her forehead to Trixie’s. “Fuck that sounds nice,” she whispers. “Let’s go.”

 

“Okay,” Trixie says with a gurgle and shakes her head smiling instead of saying it again. She can’t with Katya’s unsettled hands rooting through her sweater and pulling at her belt. As she waits for Katya to move, she smooths her hands down the small of her back and squeezes both round cheeks of her ass. It’s tight in her dress with her legs and body bent up this way.

 

Katya’s smile is blinding. Her eyes drift down to Trixie’s lips and back up again with her arms around her neck. Finally her slim legs spill off her lap. Trixie follows her to the stairs on the other side of the kitchen wall.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Ariana Grande song is “Thank U Next”, I hear it as “bacon eggs”.
> 
> Keep in mind neither of them is “right” or “wrong” or has the edge on seeing things clearly. 
> 
> Oh! Bonus, that boy on the bus is me except I was a girl, I am a girl, a woman now, and yeah I knew the mouse would scare my teacher. I wrote this before Katya’s mouse earrings aired and I haven’t recovered.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She wouldn't mind treating Katya like her girl. She looks nice laying back for her expectantly, for a moment. Trixie knows herself, that she's too spoiled and sad to make it last but ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think of these two as magnets that keep flipping polarities. 
> 
> Note that I’ve written the light D/s-ish scene in a highly fictional way, not how things would or should happen in real life. 
> 
> Here are a few fantastic works I enjoy (you probably know them!) that model more realistic communication with a sex partner:
> 
> [ There is thunder in our hearts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14061324/chapters/32392626) by [ whenyourhairisalsoahood ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whenyourhairisalsoahood/pseuds/Whenyourhairisalsoahood)
> 
> [ Sometimes it's just beer and tacos on a Tuesday night](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14914667) by [ JoanneElizabeth ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/joanneelizabeth/pseuds/JoanneElizabeth)
> 
> [ Both Hands Tied](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13983837/chapters/32196993) by [ silvervelour ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvervelour/pseuds/silvervelour)
> 
>  
> 
> That's all I've got, hope you enjoy the second half and if you do that you’ll drop in a comment!

“Wait,” Katya calls out from the bedroom she's already disappeared into. “Like, sixty seconds.” She flew up ahead so fast that if she hadn't left the door open Trixie wouldn't have known which of the two rooms to enter. 

 

Trixie slows herself and takes the time to pat down her wildly out of place hair and remove her stockings. The second floor has a solid plaster interior balcony. It’s tempting to drop her stockings over the side into that stupid living room. No reason she shouldn’t, Trixie thinks. But she did lose a lot of points nearly breaking Diana, so she decides not to push it and takes them with her.  

 

When she gets to the bedroom Katya is already down to a bra and underwear, up on her knees on the low bed. She's taken the blanket off but there are plenty of pillows. Her sheets are an orangey coral and she's turned lamps on in the corner and on her bedside table. Whether or not her room is always tidy, it is very tidy now. A row of 8x11 prints of colorful, garish paintings are hung in a row above her bed. One seems to be ... the alien from _Alien_  licking Ripley's ass. 

 

She's intentionally distracting herself as long as she can but she can't ignore Katya wiggling. Trixie never would have guessed this bra was beneath that prudy senator's wife dress. The cups are fine crocheted lace with scalloped edges and cutouts everywhere and a wicked V-shaped underwire. The underwear matches. The deep purply red is warm on her skin. The effort ... that she thinks she even has to try ... 

 

Katya’s stomach is smooth and still and she wants to drag her nails down the sides to see it contract and ripple around them. She’s dizzy thinking and looking and not sure where thought ends and sight begins, sliding down the doorway letting her stockings fall to the floor. Her confidence caves in at the prospect of standing against, laying near, being seen by _that_. 

 

There’s a red imprint where the front seam of Katya’s tights had zig zagged up to her navel. Trixie leans with her fingers positioned a few inches before Katya’s knees, anchored by that mark. 

 

“Your stockings are gone,” Katya comments, adjusting the back of her underwear like she’s not affected at all.

 

Trixie pauses with her hands on the bed, tilts her head up. “Yeah, they are.”

 

“You look hot like that.”

 

The hair at the back of Trixie’s neck stiffens. She straightens her legs and flattens her back, as well as she can. Katya swears and brushes her hands up Trixie’s throat making her jaw tremble.

 

“Your legs are incredible. I need to spend some time with them.” Katya backs up to the head of her bed and reclines against a pillow, drawing her forward with her finger. Trixie climbs up, fueled by the compliment, then stays on hands and knees to crawl to her. Katya’s face is pure delight over it. She gestures ‘up’ with her hands, pausing Trixie and bringing her up on her knees.

 

“Why don’t you wiggle your skirt off and come sit on my lap?” Trixie tugs it down her hips and shakes it off with extra drama. Katya smiles and raises her eyebrows approvingly with her hands stretched out for her. Her knees are bent and Trixie peeks beneath them and sees the curves of her ass leading into the puffy little triangle that’s at least as wet as she is. She wants to squeeze that puffy spot, slide under and feel her between her fingers. 

 

“Trixie?” Katya taunts, drumming the bed with her outstretched hands. Trixie glances up through her lashes and shifts closer to take her hands and straddle her lap. With their hands still together Katya brings them to Trixie’s belt. Trixie squeezes Katya’s wrists lightly, gives her a little push to release the buckles. When her belt is off Katya quickly lifts her sweater up and Trixie raises her arms compliantly.

 

“Your bod, Trixie.” Katya holds Trixie’s arms out and sits up. “You’re a babe!” At this angle her abs pop and Trixie can see the backs of her shoulders are muscular, too. A swimmer, perhaps. 

 

“We both are,” Trixie says softly, grinding into her a little. “You're incredible, you could crush my ass.”

 

She can’t keep her fingers from the cutouts of Katya’s bra and she slides under them, sighs over touching her warm skin. Katya kisses her neck, notes that she likes her perfume, tells her she changed into this just before Trixie came over. She had a beige sports bra on before and had a fantasy that Trixie would pounce on her as soon as she opened the door, so she wanted to be ready just in case. Trixie assures her she would have been happy at a sports bra. But that she wasn’t yet sure, not right at the door anyway. It's comforting to hear Katya admit she never had a master plan. Not comforting, actually, it’s romantic. 

 

“You can take it off,” Katya encourages. Trixie reaches behind to unhook it and doesn’t rush to pull it away because she’s nice to hold. When she does, her bare breasts are oval and sculpted. When they fall makes them look heavy.

 

“If we were drunk I’d want to live chat your tits. They're live chat worthy,” Trixie tells her with her hands full of them. “I’m glad we didn't drink.”

 

“Me too. They’re just for you.” Trixie freezes and drops her hands. Katya laughs with her whole face twisted in confusion and brings them back up, lays them over her shoulders. “I’ll hold you up if you want to lean into me,” she says confidently. Trixie lays her head on her shoulder, rushes to hide her face for the moment. 

 

The backs of her legs bloom under Katya's smooth, warm hands. She starts with her fingertips, feathery touches shading into firmer ones, then gentle scratches that make Trixie’s toes curl. Katya is building them up so slowly, patiently, humming appreciatively into Trixie’s neck and pressing her lips and teeth there.

 

“Katya--that’s so good,” Trixie whispers. She lets her know by singing scales of “oohaahs”. Katya's hair feels like handfuls of satin ribbons through her fingers. She can't help starting to pump impatiently. Her legs are gorgeous and she makes the absolute most of them, and they also happen to be a topographic map of erogenous zones. By the time Katya's arms are full of her thighs they’re shaking and she’s made her lap damp.

 

“You’re fucking beautiful,” Katya says when she pulls back for air. The veins in her forehead pump electric blue. “You’re beautiful,” she says again followed by something so obscene it makes Trixie push her shoulders back with a disgusted huff. Katya laughs and lays back against the headboard again, panting out of breath.

 

She plays over the tiny faux pearl sewn in the middle of the satin bow on Trixie’s white underwear, above the ubiquitous ‘tummy panel’. Tummy panels that employ the word ‘tummy’ to help older women feel lovable like the much younger women who presumably don't need them; the same younger women whose own underwear descriptions also use the word ‘tummy’ to help them internalize their infantilization.  

 

“Trixie? Where are you?”

 

Trixie rejoins the room and grimaces but quickly hides it. She really doesn’t want to hear how sweet her soft middle-aged body is, or some twatty nonsense about how her fat stomach is cute. At least not from someone who knows nothing of possessing either. 

 

“Katya--I don't like being touched here.” She watches Katya's index finger retract and follows it up to see her beautiful mouth briefly frown. Then Katya taps her lips and it takes Trixie a moment to understand she wants to kiss her. She crouches down and Katya kisses her mouth apologetically, takes only the bare minimum needed to make it a kiss at all and touches her cheeks with the backs of her fingers. Her chest twists like she's at the top of three flights of stairs. Trixie rubs her ear and some of her dark blonde hair behind it and Katya turns into her hand.

 

“So sweet. So gentle,” Trixie whispers.

 

“I don't have to be gentle,” Katya says with her face half muffled in Trixie’s hand.

 

“I could leave you right now.”

 

“Fuck you,” Katya giggles.

 

“You wouldn't dare.” Trixie stops rubbing her ear and tickles under Katya's hand. Katya weaves their fingers together and brings them under her chin. Their hands look nice there. Trixie lets her hips sink heavier into her lap.

 

“I would dare,” Katya says, breaking the moment. “Maybe you're too immature for me.” Trixie playfully tugs her hand back and Katya grips it harder than she expects. Katya lets go but squirms her legs and Trixie shifts to free them. She tries to lay down but Katya traps her with her ankles then puts her heels up on Trixie’s thighs, presses her toes into her stomach. 

 

“Katya, stop. Please.”

 

“I'm sorry.” Katya immediately stops touching her stomach. She lowers a foot between Trixie’s thighs just at the top of her vulva, looks to Trixie and raises her eyebrows before proceeding. Trixie shifts forward with a smirk.

 

With the ball of her foot twisted into Trixie’s pubic bone, Katya pushes deeper until she doubles over from a blinding twinge. She lands one hand by her shoulder and grabs the top of Katya’s foot with the other, rolls onto the ball of it roughly. Anchoring her heel into the mattress and her elbows against the headboard with a sharp clack against the wall, Katya kneads hard circles through her underwear with her big toe and the fatty padded bone underneath.

 

“Open up--open up for me.” Without a thought Trixie spreads her knees and feels the prickle as more folds pop open. “Your mouth, baby, open your mouth,” Katya quickly corrects and swipes her fingers down on Trixie’s chin. She then slides them into her underwear, rubs herself slowly and waits for Trixie's drool to trickle over her open lips before taking her hand out and pushing two fingers over her bottom teeth. Trixie bites them gently and flicks her tongue between Katya’s them groaning and turning her head around the taste, grinds over her toes when they slide further down, watches Katya purse her lips at her. 

 

“Please?” Trixie spits over Katya's shins and tits. The fingers make her voice hiss and she can't remember the last time she wanted anything so badly. She can’t stop how her cunt opens and shuts again, cold and empty no matter how hard she pushes.

 

“Make me come first.” 

 

Trixie yanks her mouth away, lets go of Katya's foot and pushes the heel of her hand into Katya’s sticky underwear until she drops her knees apart with a quick ‘uh!’. She feels her separate under her hand and shifts it to push her middle nail into the fabric where she's opening up. Katya’s taut belly twitches.

 

“Oh Trixie, fuck,” she gasps and pulls her knees back, stretches her legs up, pointing and flexing her silver toes. The nail polish on her toes is silver, what’s left of it. Maybe something she did for Christmas. Trixie looks up to the tips of them and rolls her eyes down the hard carved muscles marbled with veins behind her knees. She meets Katya’s formerly pale eyes and only a thin rim of crystal blue remains filled with black. Trixie’s eyes stay on her open mouth, her open oval mouth with sweetly tense brows as Katya watches her thumb pull down the top of her underwear slower and slower, waits for her to touch her. 

 

All her drippy plush folds push out, punctuated gently at the bottom by Trixie’s thumbnail. The faint hollows between her thigh muscles are so tempting and Trixie grazes them lightly with the nails on her free hand. Katya kicks her legs down panting curses, bulldozes Trixie's hand with her own and rubs faster than before and desperate, going straight for her clit. Trixie stops her and lightly clutches her arms around her bent up knees. She finds Katya's eyes and gives the tops of her thighs a few strokes until she can see clearly that she's settled. It’s not cold but Katya has goosebumps making the fine hair on her upper thighs prickly. 

 

Both the outside and inside quietness of this place, without the traffic or neighbors or banging radiators Trixie is accustomed to, first becomes evident when the mattress moves with Katya lifting up to let Trixie roll her underwear over her legs. It creaks and then their breaths sound so heavy following it. She wouldn't mind treating Katya like her girl. She looks nice laying back for her expectantly, for a moment. Trixie knows herself, that she's too spoiled and sad to make it last but ... she pushes Katya's legs back up and out to feel for some resistance in her muscles, doesn't find any at all. 

 

“Like the view?” Katya asks smoothly, rotating her ankles to show off.

 

“Do I?” Trixie tries hard to sound cool. But she can’t fight the hypnotic spin of Katya’s fingers running up and down the backs of her own knees. And she hates to even think it but a tight, smooth ass with a pussy like a pink geode is different from women in her usual pool these days. It's like being handed back a beloved toy or favorite candy from her past she’d stopped looking for.

 

She pictures Katya’s face matching her throaty gasps. It's too nice letting her press onto her tongue for more as she gently laps to start, so she doesn't tease by pulling away. Her skin up and down, inside and out is soft and sopping wet but also so swollen that Trixie has to push aside her inner labia with the pads of her fingers to get any further. She's very cautious. Trixie feels compelled to approach her delicately now. 

 

Katya’s legs tremble and fall when Trixie touches her clit and sucks around it. When her moans turn tight and close-mouthed, sounding painful, Trixie backs off. Instead of sucking she rubs her flattened tongue hard underneath the most tender spot, careful not to hit it directly every time. The softer touch opens Katya's mouth again, brings back longer continuous keening. She moves her hands up Katya's torso and gently touches her breasts, pressing the outer edges of her nails into the upper parts of them without scratching. The nicest part is laying her arms on her stomach and feeling her breathe.

 

“Better?” She knows. She needs to hear it. Katya pours down her neck. It's probably an illusion, her own spit spilling from her lips or the sensation of her own slippery thighs mixing up in her brain convincing her that Katya is drowning her in come. She doesn't care.

 

Katya whimpers and pulls her thighs back, around Trixie’s hands. “Thank you, baby.” Trixie moans and sinks in deeper like she already loves her. Digging her thumbs in just a little under the weight of her breasts, Trixie pushes her tongue down for one long deep lick over her ass and stays there fucking her with her nose when her heels come down on her neck. 

 

She can’t keep that position for long before asking Katya to put a couple of pillows under her.

 

When Katya turns to grab them she moves too sharply and whacks Trixie in the face with her knee, smashing her right cheek into her teeth. The shocked inhale she sucks in at the impact sounds asthmatic, brutal and ugly. 

 

Clutching the side of her face, Trixie rests away from Katya on her hip and stretches out her jaw. Her mouth stings and tastes unmistakably metallic. Her jawbone feels bruised and the pain shoots through her temple. She has at least one crown on that side, she can’t recall if there are more, and feels for any loosening or sharp edges. 

 

Katya watches, still and stunned with her hands over her mouth. A few seconds pass, what feels like a minute.

 

“What the fuck!” Trixie shouts at the sight of pink tinged saliva in her hand. Katya immediately shrieks a laugh in response and it boils Trixie’s blood.

 

She looks at her fingers and at Katya, pushes her fists into the bed to rise to her feet and grabs her sweater from where it's tangled in the sheets. Katya protests that her initial laugh was a nervous reaction. Only then does she offer an apology. Her voice is still soaked in sex and everything comes out whiny and demanding though not intended. 

 

Trixie won’t hear any of it. The pain and embarrassment are rock hard. Before turning her back she adjusts her underwear to be sure her ass looks dignified. Then she strides to the chair in the corner of the room, a few feet off the bottom right of the bed. Her heart pounds and when she sits she has to lean back to take a breath, her body coursing with unsatisfied need. 

 

Over on the bed, Katya turns on her side to face Trixie with an arm folded under her head.

 

“Hey, over there,” Katya says and roughly chucks a pillow in her direction. She catches it and holds it over her body, looks back scornfully. Katya's stomach is unfairly tight even at an angle, tensed with muscular outlines. Trixie subconsciously traces them along the roof of her mouth, staring down her nose.

 

“Pretending to finish off my pussy?” Katya taunts, brushing her stomach gently, giving herself goosebumps. Trixie pauses and swallows, holds her mouth shut. “I was obnoxious for laughing, other things,” Katya's tone has shifted. “But you're fucking _rude_.”

 

Trixie’s nose wrinkles at that word. It's withering and melts hot down her ears and neck. Only men have ever called her that and she hates it more than anything else they’ve called her since childhood. She wonders if Katya notices how deeply it bothers her, wonders it right as Katya tucks in her thighs and rolls over to her front. Her slim hands slither beneath her and her teeth appear with a naughty smile, then hide under a pout.

 

The muscle pulses along Katya’s forearm between her elbow and the hand hidden beneath her hip. “Poor Trixie. Does this make it better?” Sweat puddles behind Trixie’s knee where she’s crossed it over the other. Katya points her glossy finger to the carpet by her nightstand, next to the bed. “If you want to watch, come sit closer. To know what you should've had.” Her voice bobs on the last word and she stretches her neck with a shudder of a building orgasm. 

 

Still angry, Trixie hugs the pillow, her stomach feeling fatter and her arms more flabby than before. She's going back to her hotel soon and she could right now or, say, fifteen minutes from now. At her hotel she could look up whatever she wants on her laptop without witnesses. Or make an overdue phone call.

 

Instead she lowers to her knees with a louder thump than she meant to. The stiff weft of the carpet stings as she crawls for the second time, willingly and at her own direction. Almost unaware of Katya, she leans into the bed frame and rubs the red marks on her soft knees. She wishes she had kept her stockings on as she soothes one spot that feels particularly sore. 

 

“You didn’t have to crawl, baby.” Her voice is muffled against her arm. She stopped herself while Trixie came to her.

 

“No shit.” Trixie continues to caress her knees until she’s soothed them. When she looks up Katya’s face is hidden in her arm. She knows she would have done it for her. Katya shows her face again and rests her chin on her hand, focuses on the part between Trixie’s lips.

 

“Would you like to kiss my finger?”

 

Trixie sniffs her watery nose and says ‘yes’ but her throat is too wet and tight. She says it again clearly for Katya to hear it and Katya extends her finger. When Trixie kisses the tip of it lightly, she smells her scent which she just learned minutes ago and wants to run her tongue inside her lips before the taste dissolves again. But while she wants and wants and wants to take what's in her mouth, Katya holds her eyes and she waits.

 

“So gentle,” Katya whispers into her fist. “More?”

 

“Yeah,” she says with a faint, crying laugh.  Trixie’s eyes fill up and she takes her finger back with more greed, closing her lips up to her first knuckle and sucking it in and out. It’s calming once she sees Katya smile. She thinks it’s partly the slight slowing of oxygen because she can only breathe through her nose. Katya’s eyes roll a little before she locks them back on Trixie’s and starts to move again over her other hand. 

 

“No one’s ever gotten me like you did. They're too hard. They see my body and think I'm hard. Not you.” Trixie isn’t sure if she’s hearing her own mouth squirt or if the sound is coming from Katya. She’s stuffy and her ears are blocked from trying not to cry with want and remorse. “I was about to come in your mouth.” Trixie knew it and she moans mournfully around her finger. She gets louder when Katya moves closer to her, right to the edge of the bed, rolling her naked hips into her fist close enough Trixie could easily jump up and take over. 

 

"Your mouth, drooling over me, getting into me, fucking me, eating me up, so good, so good ... I wanted you to do it, I wanted you, I wanted you, I wanted you, I wanted you,” she goes on and on rolling her hips slower and harder. 

 

Trixie holds on and her chin is already chapping from everything that’s wet on it. Katya tugs her finger and pulls Trixie forward so she barely catches herself on the floor. A mouthful of her spit splashes across the carpet. 

 

“Are you alright with just looking? I mean it, can you do it? You want to?” 

 

Trixie wipes her chin with the back of her hand, reminding herself of the small cut inside her lip she’d forgotten about. She nods clearly and sits the highest, fleshiest parts of her thighs over her heels. She flicks her waves back, smooths her dry hands over any loose strands before clasping them in her lap.

 

Katya slides her hand back under her stomach. She goes harder this time, rubbing faster and lifting her hips off the bed with different rhythms. She varies between soft long moans and loud broken groans, fully enraptured with herself and being appreciated.

 

Trixie feels reverent, blessed in her presence. It's gorgeous. 

 

“Katya?” She asks very, very softly to minimise the intrusion. “Is it still good for you that I'm here?” Katya wails ‘Yes’ and tucks her knees under, spreads them apart to let her see more, props up on her left forearm with her sweat-curled hair flung over it, fucks herself faster. Her tits shake under her. 

 

“Fuck fuck fuck, tell me!” The insistence in her voice slices Trixie’s heart. “Please, pleeease!”

 

She inches towards Katya on her shins through the carpet. “You're so pretty, sexy! Honey, you're perfect.” Her hands fly closer as she gestures with them trying to think what to say.

 

“Ugh, not that.” 

 

Trixie’s mind spins. “You’re a _bad_ _girl_ , is that it? _Such_ a bad girl.”

 

“Oh gross!” 

 

“How should I know then?!” Trixie hisses, scraping her hair back, “I'm exploding here, I can't touch you--” 

 

“Yeah. That's it,” Katya says quietly. Trixie looks her over again, sees her jaw clenched under such an angelic face, and coils down hot and tight. She grins into her chest then shoots up like a Cadillac flying goddess right under Katya's face.

 

“My pussy is so hot and wet and my tits are throbbing, it hurts just looking at you. Doing what you asked me to,” she tells her through lightly touching teeth, blowing through the dark blonde hair around Katya's ear. Katya gasps loudly and uses her knees to pump faster. Trixie hears the sucking sound of every curve of her hand. She can hardly stand it, squeezes her own thighs so hard the muscles cramp. She has to let go they hurt so badly. Her face relaxes then and her voice goes flat. 

 

“I want to be yours.” She doesn’t say _tonight_. “All I can do is rip up the carpet because I can’t touch you.” 

 

Katya's face tightens and she pulls up at the sheet, turns her knuckles white with a high pitched whine. Trixie thinks that's it and it's so small she nearly tackles her from below. Then Katya actually comes with a booming cry and pounds her hips into the mattress until she's ridden it all out. The vicious thumping shoots hot daggers through Trixie’s shoulders, ribs and hips; throws her down in her corner, melted like wax. 

 

“God that worked perfectly,” Katya exhales, her face smashed into her used arm stretched straight up over her head.

 

Trixie sighs quietly in agreement. She tries to keep her thoughts blocked. Like before Christmas, when she wouldn't say or even think what she wanted, so when her parents didn't get it for her, she won. She recognized the flaws as she grew older but the habit of magical thinking remains.

 

“I want you up here with me. Please.” Well. If Katya’s plan were to kill her right now she’d die happy. 

 

She’s sure Katya is exhausted and is shocked when she reaches her arm down to her and grasps her under her armpit, pulls up. Her thighs melt when Katya manages to lift her a little. Still, she finds it in her to help by pushing herself up. As soon as she’s close enough she slides a hip onto the bed, spreads her arms out on either side under Katya's pillows. 

 

“I don't want to be anything but underneath you,” Trixie tells her, shaking her head gently like she's singing. 

 

Her face burns under Katya towering high over her like she's grown enough to hit the ceiling, up on her knees pulling her hair up off her sweaty neck, letting it tumble back down over and over. She's luxuriating.

 

“Yeah?” Katya's still a bit breathless. Trixie nods at her and shifts the rest of herself onto the bed, unsure where to put her legs. Katya takes her lazy round calves and guides them down side by side. “Underneath me,” Katya repeats to herself. Her smell is heavier than before and Trixie begs her for some of it until Katya finds her underwear in the dirty sheets and presses the cold, damp gusset of them over her mouth. She chides Trixie wordlessly with a smug smile across her plump satisfied lips. Her remaining smudge of lipstick is choppy over dry peeling lips and Trixie thinks about her sucking and biting it off minutes ago. She'd give anything to taste what's left, lick it right off Katya's teeth. For now she runs her tongue against the cotton gusset that puffs in and out with her breaths. 

 

“You'll clean me up?” Katya says smearing her fingers through her labia and scrubbing them off into the sheet and looking unfocused at nothing. Trixie nods with a gulp and squeezes her eyes shut like Katya's just spilled their canteen in the desert. Her eyes are dry from stretching open in awe. When Katya frees Trixie’s mouth she opens them again. Trixie just catches a flash of her long hair flying over her and then her navel before she slaps down on her face, filling her mouth and spilling in come from her first orgasm. Trixie swallows instinctively and sucks Katya’s sensitive, swollen skin into her mouth just a little further, the sensation moving Katya to rock on her shins. Katya pries Trixie’s fingers from the sheets and brings them around to her back, then pets her hair. 

 

“Oh, you're--hungry,” Katya says with light breaths that make her voice sound higher, thinner. “Make me come again?” Trixie thinks she's heard an angel declare it from above and tears finally spill back into her icy blonde streaks with her eyes open. She closes them when Katya's thumb strokes her shiny full cheek, her light weight sitting heavy on her collarbone. 

 

\--

 

Downstairs, Trixie plugs her dying phone into the charger in Katya’s kitchen. Katya is taking a shower.

 

“Trixie! Come back.” Trixie turns and moves fast.

 

Katya has laid back in clean dark blue sheets wearing light grey fair isle pajamas, clearly new. She's combed back her wet hair, left her makeup mostly intact, but it's smudged in the humidity. With her hair slicked back and darkened by the water she looks like a Robert Palmer girl from the neck up. 

 

“Come here and lie down with me?” Trixie labors to double the time of her steps on her way up the bed to Katya's side. Otherwise she would have run and leapt from the doorway. Once next to her she rests her hands around Katya's smiling cheeks and kisses her, sucks in her lips and licks up the tip of her nose. She doesn't feel any reservation kissing her now.

 

 

After Katya had slipped off Trixie’s face earlier, she kissed and wiped her clean. She patiently smoothed her hair back for her, taking extra care not to pull at her scalp.

 

“Will you be okay for a minute? Can I get you something from the kitchen?” Trixie knew she was doing her hair all wrong, trying to make sense of all the sticky hairspray. It was sweet to try and it felt so nice.

 

“Run, get something fatty for me,” Trixie smiled.

 

Before she went down, Katya pulled her heavy blanket from the drawers under the bed and spread it over her. It was too warm and Trixie kicked it off her legs once she was out the door, then pulled it back over them when she heard her again.

 

She brought an ice pack wrapped in a tea towel, a round tin of shortbread, and two bottles of water. Trixie put the ice pack against her mouth and winced and asked if it looked red. Katya reached for the tin, opened the lid and said it did look a bit red as she poked through the buttery stacks. She chose a heart shaped cookie and handed it to Trixie and though she accepted it gladly, Trixie offered Katya the first bite. Katya's little cheeks popped in a shy smile before she declined.

 

They laid together in a hollow of time while whatever else rolled by above them, leaving them safe and untouched.

 

In that time they talked about experiencing social life without mobile phones, Trixie because she lived plenty of years without one and Katya because she broke hers last summer and waited a few weeks before replacing it. Trixie told her about Amorgos which is the only Greek island she recommends and she has several categorical reasons why. 

 

Katya got up to use the bathroom, still fully naked as she had been when she ran to the kitchen and back again, and when she returned she lay on Trixie’s chest.

 

”I’m sorry I didn’t just say sorry for nailing your mouth. That would have been better. I’m not ... so sorry though about how the rest went,” Katya said and Trixie could hear she was sincere and grinning. Her fingers were again spinning through Katya’s hair and she grabbed a fistful of it and squeezed with a smile. 

 

Trixie is accustomed to people trying to get her to cuddle up with them. It's not her thing. A deserving person laying their weight on her without a doubt she can handle it was her thing, for that moment. 

 

An hour or so later, Katya had unwound herself from Trixie’s sleeping body to take a shower. Trixie grumbled awake as the water squeaked on in the bathroom and eventually called through the door that she would head downstairs to charge her phone. Katya had mentioned she has a rule about leaving her phone out of the bedroom so she keeps the charger there.

 

 

“Your mouth is so erotic,” Katya says hoarsely now, having flipped them to be above Trixie holding her arms loose over her head. “I want to eat so many parts of you. I’ll make a list, stick it somewhere,” Katya mumbles messily down her jaw on her way to suck her earlobe. The diamond rock attached to it has a loose backing and Trixie moans thinking of it rolling around Katya's tongue when she hasn't let her touch her anywhere meaningful yet. She's begged Trixie to let her, offered any way she likes; pawed and growled into her cleavage; spat down the back of her underwear and tongued it up which made Trixie laugh, hurt Katya’s feelings a bit; brought out a dusty box with the strap-on she bought and hasn't had the opportunity to use. The shower hasn't cooled her off.

 

The pleading makes it fun to deny her. But the room still rings with the overwhelming commotion from before--Katya's monstrous energy--and Trixie is fatigued. Her drive isn't relentless. And it’s petulant but she’s miffed Katya didn’t even try to take her bra off earlier. Maybe she was working up to it but it’s usually the first thing to go. She wanted Katya’s off instantly. She supposes she can understand her own breasts don’t command Katya’s attention the same way.

 

She pulls a strand of Katya's cold wet hair off her neck and squeezes it, flattening out the strands. It smells like orange blossom, the scent stays on her fingers, and she thinks maybe it’s what Katya put in her basket at the grocery store when they met almost twelve hours ago. She rubs her feet over the softer sheets Katya's put on and it occurs to Trixie they were put down for her to sleep in. 

 

“I want something,” Katya says.

 

Trixie grimaces. “My mouth still hurts,” she says, rubbing where the inside of her cheek feels tender and rough against her gums. She's been sucking at it compulsively.

 

“Not that,” Katya says with a forced chirpy laugh. She sits back and kneels with her legs splayed out, hunched with her hands flopped on either side. Her eyes dart all over Trixie’s face looking for something. “Sure you don't want all this,” she asks doing half a body roll, “slamming into your pussy? These come off, you know.” She plucks at her pajama top.

 

Trixie nods yes, she is sure. “Those _are_ cute, where did you get them?” Trixie reaches up and Katya leans down so she can rub the row of buttons below the neck.

 

“My pediatrician. She buys me presents when I cry and call her mommy.”

 

Trixie subdues a screech. “Next time try ‘when I piss in her lap and call her mommy’, or ‘suck her titties and call her mommy’.”

 

Katya crashes into her, kicking her feet against the bed. “But I do still cry to my mom.” Her eyes are watering from laughter.

 

“Aww. That's good. You should, as long as you have her,” Trixie assures her, rubbing the arm Katya has put back over her and fanning their fingers out before weaving them together. Katya looks at her with too much sympathy and Trixie interrupts before she can say something overly earnest. “You said you wanted something.”

 

“Yes. Stay over, let me keep you as long as I can.” The small room feels bigger and more familiar all of a sudden. It’s only then she realizes her hand is in Katya's again. “What’s the point of you spending hours just down the road in your hotel and then leaving?”

 

“I have stuff there. I have pajamas, I don't want to sleep in these.” Trixie jabs a harsh finger into her shoulder. “And before you even think of it, I'm not playing ‘borrow my little pants, they stretch’. It’s really uncomfortable sleeping in someone's miniature clothes.”

 

“This is about pajamas?” Katya asks.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“That's the issue?”

 

“They’re nice! I'm fucking old, they keep me cool. They're expensive.”

 

Katya rolls off the bed and pulls socks from her top dresser drawer. “Give me your room key and I'll go get your stuff. You’re not _that_ old. Just whiny,” she teases with a smile over her shoulder from the edge of the bed as she finishes pulling her socks up. 

 

\--

 

Trixie sends her down to find the key in her purse and when she hears the front door shut she gets up to look out the bedroom window. Her vision is blocked by the short wooden awning that covers the doorway below and the car is parked just past that. But through the posts she sees Katya leave in a long black down coat.

 

Just before she backs away from the window, Katya comes around to the passenger side of the car and peeks up. She runs immediately when she spots Trixie in the window but Trixie knows she's smiling. 

 

Away from the window now, Trixie rubs the chill from the glass panes off her arms. She has to pee but stops to look at a couple of photos framed on the tall dresser in the corner first. The Ouroboros necklace and a jumble of gold bracelets and flower filled resin bangles sit in a wobbly plate glazed in shades of green that has Katya's initials ‘YZ’ and the year ‘07’ carved into the bottom of it. Trixie realizes it would have been her high school graduation year and looks it over more fondly.

 

There is one photo of her with presumably her mother in a pretty silver frame, quite traditional like Tiffany or a look alike. She's careful not to leave fingerprints around the edges. They didn't talk about much, Trixie realizes, though they talked a lot. She knows in a backwards way that her mother is a pediatrician. It seems like they're very close. That's a lot for half a day, she supposes.

 

The other photo is of only Katya wearing either a knockoff or a fucking lucky vintage find of the Gaultier cage suit jacket, cigarette in hand. She's giving what must be her biggest smile to someone behind the person who took the photo and appears to have nothing but cut-off jeans and oversized fishnets underneath the jacket. The background is a brick wall. It's day time, and it seems a few years old. Trixie wants to know everything about it she can’t see.  

 

After using the toilet she remembers the shampoo. The shower has a pebbled glass sliding door on loud rickety rails and she winces at the sharp crash when she pushes it open. She reaches for the bottle with an open cap and catches an icy cold drip from the shower head in the process. It feels full. She recognizes it from Katya's basket and the price sticker confirms she bought it there.

 

There's a waste bin hidden between the shower and the toilet and a different empty shampoo bottle in it. It seems Katya just switched today. After retrieving it from a nest of used cotton rounds, Trixie squeezes it and gets a whiff of something pleasant she can't identify. This is a scent she’d never know Katya by. She'd only know her by the orange blossom.

 

On her way out, Trixie catches a sideways glimpse of her body in the bathroom mirror and is satisfied. She kneels on the bed and unhooks her bra, throws it to the chair where Katya folded her clothes for her. She pulls her underwear off and does the same but they land flat on the arm of the chair making them look massive. If she can stay awake long enough for Katya to come back, she's sure it won't matter. Trixie lays on her front with her face over her folded arms and waits to see what happens.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ mattepinkallshades ](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/mattepinkallshades) :)
> 
> Holy crap I finished something. It feels great. All feedback is greatly appreciated, and thank you so much for folks who have liked and reblogged on Tumblr, too, that’s so nice of you. 
> 
> The Alien-eats-Ripley’s-ass print is real by a super talented artist with loads of great affordable art for sale (including Trixie and Katya paintings!) : [ spunkrock on Etsy](https://www.etsy.com/listing/650107956/alien-erotic-art-print?ref=shop_home_active_8&crt=1) aka [ @spunk.rock on Insta ](https://instagram.com/spunk.rock?utm_source=ig_profile_share&igshid=1nu364la86yyc) though they keep chasing her off based on rules that don’t apply to her art.


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